


the cell to wicked souls is hell

by fireweed15



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireweed15/pseuds/fireweed15
Summary: Ąžuolas accompanies his boss on a visit to the markets under the Coliseum.
Relationships: Apprentice & Muriel (The Arcana), Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	the cell to wicked souls is hell

Despite the shade of the royal box, the winter sun beat down on the polished white stone of the Coliseum, reflecting off of it and damn near blinding the packed stands. More than once, Ąžuolas had to shield his eyes from the brightness (not to mention from the gruesome athletics on display in the arena).

Stars help him, this was not his scene _at all_ , which made him something of an oddity among his fellow Vesuvians. While he took heart in the fact that Countess Nadia visibly and vocally disapproved, it seemed like most of Vesuvia, bolstered by Lucio's appreciation of them, turned out for the gladiatorial competitions.

The nonstop roar of the crowd reached a fever pitch as the single gladiator in the arena cut down the last of his opponents. Ąžuolas leaned forward slightly, trying to get a read on the gladiator's face, but his long, dark hair shrouded his expression in shadow. The body language, though—

"What do you think of my champion, Azzy?" Lucio's hand came down on Ąžuolas' shoulder, the pointed tips of his prosthetic's fingers digging lightly into his skin through his qaspeq.

"He's a skilled fighter, my lord," Ąžuolas replied, keeping his voice carefully level. The last thing he wanted was to risk offending the man who was not only the ruler of the city-state, but his employer.

He ignored the subsequent preening, as if he'd complimented Lucio directly, but snapped to attention as Lucio gestured for him to follow. "Back to the palace, my lord?"

"No no no—somewhere much better, Azzy," he corrected, waving a hand dismissively as he descended from the box onto the sand.

"Better?" Ąžuolas echoed, lifting a hand to use the edge of his sleeve to guard against the heady smell of copper soaking into the sand.

"We're going to see a man about a cheetah."

# # #

It, technically speaking, shouldn't have surprised Ąžuolas that there was an underground market under the Coliseum—and yet try as he might to mimic his employer's sense of belonging in this world, he couldn't help _but_ gawk. Wares of every kind and culture (and degree of legality) could be found in stalls and the hands of merchants, and both they and the shoppers of this strange market were no less colorful than those in Vesuvia proper.

Despite Lucio's tendency to stick out from any crowd, few seemed to pay him, or the bespectacled assistant trailing behind him, any mind, and he moved with confidence that spoke to what Ąžuolas could only assume was having been here before. Perhaps it was something best left unthought about.

At length, they arrived at a section of the marketplace, at the very edge it seemed, where animals were kept—and apparently traded and sold. Many of the traders greeted the count by name, and Ąžuolas thought back to the palace menagerie, its collection of animals that Lucio had hand selected. How many of these merchants had he dealt with to build that menagerie, he wondered…

As Lucio settled into what was obviously a well practiced ritual of negotiation, Ąžuolas found his attention wandering. His gaze passed over crates carrying creatures delivered to or from corners of the world unknown, others in cages—and in one of the last cages in the row was, to Ąžuolas' initial surprise and then mounting horror, was a person.

Sparing a quick glance around to be certain he wasn't being watched, he edged closer to the iron barred door. The brick and metal cage was barely big enough for some of the animals, let alone a human—especially this human, who Ąžuolas guessed to be well over two meters tall, despite being hunched over on a stool that looked like it could just barely hold his weight. Heavy iron shackles wrapped around his wrists and neck, and equally heavy iron chains trailed from them to the wall. At length he looked up, dark hair framing his face and intense green eyes considering Ąžuolas warily. Even in the sputtering torchlight, Ąžuolas could see that he was streaked with sweat and sand—and blood.

Could it be that…? "Are you the fighter who was just…?" He flicked his eyes upward for a moment, hesitating to give that god awful arena name.

He didn't speak, but the flicker in his eyes said it all. "Is this where they keep you?" Ąžuolas asked, his voice a hoarse whisper as he wrapped a hand around an iron bar. "I—I'm so sorry, this isn't right—"

"Leave me alone." The words were sudden, the fighter's voice a low rumble befitting his massive stature.

Of all the things that could have been said, that was, admittedly, one of the last Ąžuolas had expected. "What?"

The wariness was gone, and his green eyes darkened as his expression became warning, foreboding. "Leave. Me. _Alone._ "

To say that the words didn't hurt would have been a lie. "…Of course—I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching into his shoulderbag and withdrawing two paper-wrapped rolls. "I'm sorry if this is out of line, but here—" He thrust his hand between the bars, offering the rolls. "You look hungry."

The fighter's gaze flicked from Ąžuolas' face to the proffered rolls and back, as if assessing his intent. Finally, moving slowly, he lifted a hand, his chains clinking darkly with the movement, and took the rolls. His hands dwarfed Ąžuolas' by comparison and were roughly calloused, but the touch was gentle. He didn't speak, and only eyed Ąžuolas with distrust before retreating into the back corners of his prison.

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an AU where Ąžuolas is either an NPC or a romanceable love interest, and works as Lucio's somewhat weary, put-upon assistant ~~the portia to lucio's nadia, if you will~~
> 
> Quote comes from the following piece written by Paul Pellisson on the walls of a cell in the Bastille—
> 
> Doubles grilles à gros cloux,  
> Triples portes, forts verroux,  
> Aux âmes vraiment méchantes  
> Vous représentez l'enfer:  
> Mais aux âmes innocentes  
> Vous n'etes que du bois, des pierres, du fer.
> 
> (Fast closed with double grills  
> And triple gates—the cell  
> To wicked souls is hell;  
> But to a mind that's innocent  
> 'Tis only iron, wood and stone.)


End file.
